


No "I" in "Team"

by levendis



Series: Prompt Fics [80]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6922747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time-traveler needs a companion, or three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No "I" in "Team"

**Author's Note:**

> for anon, who prompted: Clara and Lady Me traveling through time and picking up every one of Clara's Girls of the Week for an orgy party at the end of the universe

She’s waiting for the day when it all becomes old-hat. That last line stepped over, the sinking realization. Hedonism, surely, can only take you so far. Even deathless, breathless Clara Oswald will eventually have to live for something other than the moment. Chase something other than immediate gratification. Eventually, probably. Maybe.

What were the rules, again? First, do no harm. Second, have fun. Something about pears. It’s been a while, her memory is fuzzy.

“I can give you a ride,” she says, nodding to the TARDIS. Ignoring the crowd of soldiers, guns bristling. “My good deed of the day.”

Journey hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, and then follows her.

(Better the unknown than an endless war, Clara knows. Anywhere but here. Still, she likes to think it’s something to do with her in particular.)

 

* * *

 

Between the two of them it doesn’t take long, not long at all, before the searching glance over the TARDIS console leads to something more. The familiar hum of the ship against her back as Journey leans over her for a fumbling, hungry kiss. Desperate, obscurely angry. Her thigh hitched hard between Clara’s legs, eyes wide, red-rimmed. The vortex howling a half-step away. 

 

* * *

 

Me, who is linear, doesn’t quite understand Clara, who is iterative and recursive.

“You can’t fix everything,” Me says. “And you’ll never learn from your mistakes if you always go back and undo them.”

“And what’s the lesson I should be learning? ‘Everything ends, everyone dies, we all end up alone’? Please.” Clara slams the lever home, looks away. The TARDIS materializes neatly.

“Fancy a trip?” she asks, grinning.

“To where?” Saibra, understandably suspicious. Still uncomfortable in her own skin. How long had it been? Not long enough, clearly.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.” All of time and space. “Come with me.”

An invitation, an innuendo. Saibra accepts.

(Journey sticks her hand out roughly, Saibra takes it. Something wordless passing between them. She’s not a part of that, Clara knows. She’s not them. Not anymore.)

 

* * *

 

Me, who is tired, doesn’t exactly get Clara, who’s just getting started. She rolls her eyes - sighs - an aching, knowing look. She’s learned too many hot-stove, dog-bite lessons. She watches silently as Clara stands too close behind Saibra, who is marveling over the waffle-maker. And closer still, hands settling on her waist, a slow inhale. Time stopped and then resumed: Saibra turns and lets herself be guided through to the back, the inner workings of the ship. Swallowed up, whisked away, a giddy uncertainty as Clara wraps her hand around Saibra’s wrist.

Journey finishes reassembling her rifle and, triple-checking that the residual energy from the battery is fully drained, aims at the wall and pulls the trigger. “Bang bang,” she whispers.

Me forces an awkward smile and then heads back down the open floor panel.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re the new blood,” Journey says.

Clara looks appalled, Saibra looks confused. Me, who is over it, is elsewhere entirely.

“She’s my hero,” Clara corrects. “A brilliant author, all-around excellent person, and.” She pauses, struggling for the right word. “My friend.”

Jane with an expression that implies ‘friend’ isn’t quite right. Jane appearing slightly uncomfortable. “So this is your magic box, then. It’s even stranger than you made it seem.”

“This? This is nothing. Wait 'til you see what it can _do_.”

 

* * *

 

The TARDIS door slammed shut behind them and Clara’s laughing. No one else is.

“Is this what you do, then? Run away from nightmares?” Jane, wiping the sweat off her brow. Saibra steps in to help with some of the more finicky, sweltering bits of clothing. Half-tender, mostly efficient, the hint of something else.

Journey unhooks the clasp of her helmet, watching them. Watches Clara watching them.

“Well. Ideally, I vanquish the nightmare as well, but you can’t win 'em all.” Clara, wiping the last of the grin off her face. She circles them slowly, then drifts away. Leans against the console - a loaded glance directed towards Journey, then a much more vulnerable expression for Jane, who is shrugging, bemused, as Saibre’s hands venture into uncharted territory.

“It’s fun,” Journey supplies. “Adventure. Some people like the…excitement.”

“And the stress-relief immediately following,” Clara says.

Jane, squirming. “You are a strange creature, Clara Oswald. With strange acquaintances. I mean that in the most positive - _oh_.” Flushed, flustered, stockings in disarray.

“Strange, yeah. That’s a word you could use.” Journey advances towards Clara, lazily predatory, a casual swagger. Hands rough on her hips, a kiss with teeth. “Some people, you know.”

(Jane probably doesn’t know. Whenever, wherever the fuck she’s from, anyone with a disposition like that doesn’t know. She’ll figure it out, though, eventually.)


End file.
